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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889161">Veronica’s Ghost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oofmilk/pseuds/oofmilk'>oofmilk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heather Ghost-ler [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Heathers: The Musical - Murphy &amp; O'Keefe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Gen, Ghost Heather Chandler, Heather is Big Fucking mad lmao, Implied/Referenced Suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:08:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oofmilk/pseuds/oofmilk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew that voice, but the owner of said voice was dead.</p><p>...Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Heather Chandler &amp; Veronica Sawyer, Heather Duke &amp; Heather McNamara &amp; Veronica Sawyer, Heather Duke &amp; Veronica Sawyer, Heather McNamara &amp; Veronica Sawyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heather Ghost-ler [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Veronica’s Ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is more compliant to the musical than the movie, but it could work in the movie-verse too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Monday. Day one post-Heather Chandler’s “suicide.” Veronica was sitting with the other Heathers at lunch, not quite eating, but then again, neither of the Heathers were really eating either. Something flickered at the edge of Veronica’s vision. Something red, with blue dribbling down her chin. Veronica snapped her head to the side, but Hea—<em>i</em><em>t </em> was gone. She watched the spot where it had been, but there was no trace. It was only when an underclassman walked through the spot that Veronica convinced herself she was just seeing things.</p><p>“Ronnie? Ronica?” Duke asked. She huffed. “Ver<em>onica</em>!”</p><p>“Huh?” She turned back towards the Heathers. “Sorry, I was spaced out. What’s happening?”</p><p>“Heather’s funeral,” Duke said with a roll of her eyes. “Are you going?”</p><p>“Of course,” Veronica said. The earnesty in her voice surprised her. “Heather was one of my best friends.”</p><p>A chill brushed her cheek. If she allowed herself to think to the answer that it <em> definitely wasn’t</em>, Veronica would say a ghost had tried to slap her. Chandler was known for slapping some people, so maybe— Veronica shook her head. The Heathers would think her crazy if she voiced her thoughts. They would immediately oust her from their clique. She needed some sleep. Or maybe a reality check. Possibly both.</p><p>“That’s so sweet,” McNamara said. “In, like, a really sad way.”</p><p>“Ha… yeah.”</p><p>The bell rang, signalling the end of their lunch period. The Heathers dumped their trays off and left with a short goodbye. Veronica was about to place her tray in the return location when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She could have <em> sworn </em> she heard someone whisper her name.</p><p>
  <em> “Veronica…” </em>
</p><p>She whipped around, one fist raised, but found only the lunch ladies wiping down tables. Veronica grabbed her forehead with her free hand. Okay, next period she was taking a nap for <em> sure. </em> It was her history, anyway, and the teacher was way more relaxed than maybe they should have been. She shoved past the cafeteria’s doors to go to class.</p>
<hr/><p>“Come on, Veronica! Get your old junker and let’s motor!” Duke said over the noise of the post-final bell crowd.</p><p>“Ha ha, very funny Heather.” Veronica rolled her eyes. “My station wagon is <em> not </em> a junker.”</p><p>“Not yet it isn’t.” Duke latched onto her arm with one hand, using her second to grab McNamara. “But that doesn’t matter. Let’s <em> go</em>!”</p><p>“Veronica Sawyer!”</p><p>The voice seemed, somehow, to be louder and clearer than the noise of the crowd. Veronica turned on her heel, casting surprised eyes over the sea of students bustling around her. She <em> knew </em> that voice. She <em> knew </em> that voice and there was <em> no way </em> she could possibly be hearing it right now. The owner of that voice was <em> dead. </em></p><p>“Ronnie?” McNamara asked. “You alright?”</p><p>“I, uh… Forgot something in my last class,” Veronica lied. “You guys go on ahead without me.”</p><p>Duke sighed, but she tugged lightly on McNamara’s sleeve. “Come on, Heather, let’s motor.”</p><p>Veronica started to push through the crowd, searching for the source of that voice. Some students voluntarily stepped out of her way, while others had to be shoved to get the point across. She was starting to think it was another hallucination, like the one at lunch, when the voice called out again, this time louder and more… irritated?</p><p>“Veronica Sawyer, where are you?!”</p><p>“I’m here!” Veronica yelled back. She ignored the curious glances her classmates shot her. “Over here!”</p><p>Eventually she broke through the end of the crowd, and she stopped short. The air here was cooler, substantially so, if the puffs of breath in front of her face were any indicator, but that didn’t make sense. Sure, Westerburg paid about as much attention to the heating units as it did the bathrooms (which was to say, not a lot), but she knew that they had recently been repaired. But it wasn’t the cold air that made her stop. It was the girl clad in a red robe, hair mussed from sleep, with blue drain cleaner dribbling down her chin.</p><p>“Veronica Sawyer!” the ghost of Heather Chandler snapped, hands on hips. “You have a lot of fucking explaining to do!”</p>
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